


Revenant

by Durendal



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Dark Jedi - Freeform, F/M, Mad Scientist, Medical Experiments, Sith, Sith Holocron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:44:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6467170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Durendal/pseuds/Durendal





	1. Chapter 1

21 BBY

Captured Pelta-class medical frigate, Revenant

“We are such fragile things, don’t you think? It takes amazingly little effort to end a life. An infection, an insect bite, a blow to the head, you get the idea. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we never had to worry about such things again? Can you imagine it? A galaxy without death?” 

The woman who spoke idly toyed with a small red pyramid that she held in her hands. It glowed bright red. She wore a white lab coat with the sleeves rolled up, exposing her arms, and her black hair was tied back into two buns. She would have beautiful, if not for her corpselike pallor and the criss-cross of scars that covered her skin. They lined her face and her arms and much more, they ran the entire length of her body. 

The clone trooper who lay strapped to the operating table said nothing. The gag in his mouth prevented him from doing so. Although, even without it, she was sure that he would have given her nothing but stony silence. She rather admired the man’s courage. 

She leaned in close and ran a hand through his hair “Don’t fret, if this works, you won’t die…well, you won’t stay dead. It’ll be as if you’re going to sleep, and then you’ll wake up again in a few moments. So, keep your fingers crossed.” 

“Stop kriffing with him and just get on with it, Watki.” A deep, mechanical voice spoke up, and Doctor Mika Watki looked and faced the speaker. 

A blue figure stood in the corner. He looked like something out of a nightmare. He was a horrific fusion of man and machine. Nothing organic existed below the torso, there were a series of metal plates in place of his ribs, and three containers filled with a dark liquid were visible, two protruding from his back and a third where his stomach would have been. What skin he had was dead and rotting, and in places, torn open entirely, revealing the cybernetics underneath. Razor-sharp mechanical talons had been grafted onto the back of his fingers. 

His face, however, was the worst of all. He had no lower jaw, and a gaping hole where his throat had been. Most of the skin was missing from the right side of his skull, revealing the durasteel plates that had replaced bone. His eyes were cybernetic. In life, they had produced angry, menacing red light. As he was in his current form, they were a cold, lifeless blue. 

She found him beautiful. 

Doctor Watki turned back to the bound trooper and gave him an apologetic smile “Forgive Darth Acheron, after spending so many years in his holocron, he tends to get a little impatient.” 

The being who stood before them was not truly Darth Acheron, of course. Rather, he was the gatekeeper of Darth Acheron’s holocron. Still, given that he held the memories and personality of the long dead Sith, he might has well have been the real thing. 

“I agree with the spectre, we should hurry this along. Count Dooku is anxious for results.” 

Sitting on a bench was a fourth being. A Zeltron male in his mid-forties. His head was shaved clean, although he had a thin moustache. He wore a black tunic and had a lightsaber clipped to his belt. Birco, one of Count Dooku’s acolytes. He had been a Jedi Knight once, but that had been before the Separatists, before the Clone Wars. He had his eyes trained on Darth Acheron, they never left his form.

Watki smirked, leaned in close to the trooper and said in a stage whisper “And he gets jealous of how much attention Darth Acheron gets.” 

“Jealous of a holocron? Hardly.” Birco snorted, though he threw a glare in the gatekeeper’s direction, which was quickly returned. 

“Now, now, don’t fight, we need each other after all,” Watki chided.

Neither Darth Acheron or Birco said anything, they just kept glaring at each other. 

Watki sighed and turned away from the two “Seven-three-one, is the latest serum ready?”

“Ready to inject, doctor.” A MED-47 droid rolled up to the group on four wheels. In its skeletal fingers, it held a syringe filled with a murky, crimson liquid. 

“Thank you, Seven-three-one, you may proceed,” Watki said with a nod. 

From the operating table, the clone trooper looked up at the Separatist doctor with venom in his eyes. 

“Sssh, it’s okay. This will only hurt for a moment, then you won’t have to worry about pain ever again,” Watki said soothingly. She smiled down at the clone trooper, but there was no warmth in it. 

The trooper bucked and jerked against his restraints, but they held tight. The droid slowly edged closer to the bound clone trooper, before placing the needle against a vein in the man’s neck. Seven-three-one turned to Watki, who nodded. At that, the droid pierced the trooper’s skin and injected the fluid into him. The man tensed up, before his body went slack and his eyes closed. 

“Trooper? Can you hear me?” Watki asked after a moment.

The trooper’s eyes fluttered, before opening fully. His eyes were glassy and lifeless. When his eyes settled on Doctor Watki, the trooper started thrashing frantically, fighting to get free of his restraints. His teeth gnashed wildly against the gag.

Watki sighed “Regrettable, another failure.” She turned her gaze to the holocron’s gatekeeper “You told me it would work this time. Instead we have another mindless revenant on our hands.”

“I said it might work. I told you before, my…colleague, had more experience in this field than I did.”

“He was the one who brought you back from the brink of death?” Watki asked.

Darth Acheron looked down at his mangled body, before narrowing his eyes “Yes.”

“And he did a wonderful job,” Birco muttered, his eyes fixed on the dead Sith with disdain.

Darth Acheron turned his gaze to Birco and growled. 

“And your colleague, did he leave a holocron, as you did?” Watki asked, stepping between the man and the hologram. 

“I believe so,” Darth Acheron said, eyes still locked onto the Zeltron.

“And do you know where he left it?”

“I have a few theories, but nothing solid.” 

“Well then, why don’t you make a list while we talk,” Birco said, before motioning to the holocron in Watki’s hand.

The gatekeeper’s form vanished in a flash, and the light emanating from the holocron faded. 

Watki frowned at him “I really wish you wouldn’t do that. We need him and his research. It does us no good to antagonise him.”

Birco shrugged and went silent for a minute “I’m not jealous,” Birco said carefully “But I am disconcerted with how much attention you give that thing.” 

Watki her arms around his neck “Birco, he’s just a hologram. How could that ever compete with you?”

Birco looked unsure. Watki smiled sweetly at the Dark Jedi, then leaned in and kissed him. When she broke it, he looked considerably more at ease.

He really was so easily led.


	2. Reminiscing of Times Long Past

3650 BBY

Korriban

Three beings wandered in the dark caverns on Korriban. Two were Human, one was a Sith pureblood. The lead Human was tall and had dirty-blond hair, while the one behind him was shorter and had black hair streaked with red, dyed with the blood of shyracks. The pureblood was bald and had maroon skin, prominent forehead ridges and long, drooping facial tentacles, adorned with gold rings. All three were wielding Sith swords, held tightly in their grips. They were prospective Sith, eager young initiates undergoing trials to see which of them was worthy to bear the title of Sith. 

They had been tasked with finding a war blade, wielded by the long dead Sith lord, Simus, a member of the old Sith Council. He had been an extremely powerful Force user, even by Sith standards, having managed to survive decapitation at the hands of Marka Ragnos during a duel to decide who would be the next Dark Lord of the Sith and Sith Emperor. Even as a severed head, Simus still commanded respect, such was the extent of his wisdom and power. In the end, however, it had not been enough, as he was betrayed by his former apprentice, Naga Sadow, the treacherous snake who had brought the Republic down on their heads. 

“Is Simus’ tomb close?” The shorter of the two Humans, Eno Khasjenna asked, his tone impatient.

“Stop whining, it’s unbecoming of a Sith,” The other Human, Gavryn Ehn’gha snapped. 

“Perhaps we should just kill him now and be done with it,” The Sith, Laga Redul whispered to Ehn’gha.

“Not yet, he may yet be useful to us.” 

They were the last of this particular batch of acolytes. Xarlo had been killed on the first day, savaged by Overseer Yurtoln’s shyrack as an example for talking back. Mesh had been eaten by a k’lor’slug. Tormi and Matalla had killed each other during a sparring session. Finally, Durak had made the mistake of stepping in the path of Darth Jadus’ daughter, who had responded by using the Force to smash him against the walls and pillars of the Sith Temple until his body was an unrecognisable mess. 

Such was the way of the Sith. The strong thrived while the weak perished, and the fallen had certainly established themselves as weak. Of course, the final three had yet to establish themselves as truly strong, and so, the three had decided to work together for this task. The Valley of the Sith Lords was a treacherous place, filled with all sorts of dangers. Once they were done, they would be back at each other’s throats, fighting for the right to be called Sith. 

From the corner of his eyes, Ehn’gha saw a small pile of pebbles shift, as if someone had kicked them. His eyes glanced around the cave, though he saw no one. Still, that did not mean that they were alone. On Korriban, you didn’t survive long if you weren’t cautious to the point of paranoia. 

“Keep an eye out,” Ehn’gha said.

“For tuk’ata?” Redul asked. 

“There’s more than just Sith hounds down here,” Ehn’gha murmured, gripping his sword tightly, his eyes darting around the caverns. 

“Oi, look at this,” Khasjenna said, drawing the others attention. He was kneeling in front of a skeleton draped in tattered robes. Whoever the being had once been, he was long dead, and judging by the marks on his bones, he had been felled by a lightsaber. 

Redul snorted “Oh yes, what an amazing find. I’m sure Overseer Yurtoln will reward you greatly for it.”

“Maybe he has something on him?” Khasjenna mused, his hand moving towards the remains of the skeleton’s robes.

“Don’t touch it, you idiot!” Ehn’gha snapped, reaching out to stop Khasjenna.

It was too late, Khasjenna was rifling through the skeleton’s clothes. There was a sudden, loud hissing noise, which echoed around the cave. It was soon followed by more, until the sound was almost overwhelming. Then, a number of beasts shimmered into being. They were large and reptilian, their mouths filled with needle-like teeth and venom dripped down from their maws to pool on the ground. Their claws were razor sharp and looked as if they could shred durasteel. Hssiss, ancient Sithspawn, they were known to protect the corpses of dead Sith, striking at anyone bold or stupid enough to rob from the deceased. 

“What do we do?!” Khasjenna asked, scrambling to his feet. 

“There’s too many of them to fight off!” Redul snarled, though he readied his blade anyway.

“We need something,” Ehn’gha murmured.

“What do we need?” Khasjenna shouted, taking a swing at a particularly daring hssiss. The beast snarled as the blade caught it on its forelimb. 

“Bait,” Ehn’gha said. Then, with a sudden flourish, he turned and swung his sword, aiming for Khasjenna’s tendons. The other Human let out a scream and fell to his knees as blood poured from his wounds. 

Ehn’gha and Redul ran off into the caverns, leaping past the hssiss, who save for the odd swipe or snap, ignored them. He spared a quick glance back. He couldn’t see Khasjenna, but the cavern was being lit up with flashes of blue as he cast Sith lightning. The snarls of the hssiss echoed around them, in rage and pain as Khasjenna fought them off. For a moment, Ehn’gha wondered if Khasjenna might actually be able to fend them off. Then, he heard a piercing scream, a loud, splintering crunch as the hssiss bit into something, and the lightning abruptly stopped. 

“Told you he’d be useful,” Ehn’gha said, smirking. 

xxx

The last two initiates stood in the office of Overseer Yurtoln. The Human was in his late forties, and had a shaved head, as well as a short, black beard streaked with grey. His most notable feature, however, was the long, ragged scar over his left eye, which had since been replaced with a cybernetic one. He had lost it to a shyrack that he had trained to savage acolytes who had displeased him. Behind him, on a shelf was a large, transparisteel jar filled with a translucent, yellow liquid. Floating inside was the body of a shyrack, the very same one that had torn the Overseer’s eye from his skull. After he had killed it, he had kept its corpse, as a measure of respect for the beast’s viciousness. 

Ehn’gha wondered if Yurtoln had fully learned his lesson, given that a second shyrack was pacing along Yurtoln’s desk. Its tail was swishing back and forth, it’s hooked limbs clacking on the obsidian surface. The beast flitted its wings restlessly and chittered noisily, its razor sharp teeth chattering in its mouth. Its eyes were blind and unseeing, but they were somehow locked onto the two acolytes.

“Do you have it?” Yurtoln asked.

Ehn’gha pushed his cloak to the side and drew Simus’ sword from his belt “For you, Overseer Yurtoln,” Ehn’gha said, bowing his head as he offered the blade.

The Overseer reached out and plucked the blade from Ehn’gha’s hands. He weighed it briefly in his hand, before swinging it. The sword passed within centimetres of Ehn’gha’s head. He did not flinch, to show weakness in the presence of his Overseer would mean death. 

“A fine blade, Simus certainly had good taste,” Yurtoln mused, placing the sword on his desk, before looking back to his acolytes “You did well to retrieve it.”

“Thank you, Overseer Yurtoln.” Redul and Ehn’gha spoke at once. 

“Of course, your trials still aren’t over. One final task still remains before I decide which of you is worthy to ascend to the ranks of the Sith.” He looked down his nose at the pair.

“One of you must kill the other. Only then will you be worthy.” 

There was not even a moment of hesitation, Ehn’gha and Redul whirled on each other, swords raised. They circled each other slowly, their eyes never leaving each other. Then, with a sudden shout, Redul charged forward, sword raised. Using the Force to augment his speed, Ehn’gha parried the blow, deflecting the sword downwards. Ehn’gha quickly smashed his knee into Redul’s gut, and the pureblood let out a wheeze as the air was pushed out of his lungs. Ehn’gha raised his sword, preparing to cleave down into Redul’s back, only to find himself violently pushed off of his feet. He flew backwards into the wall, knocking his head as he did so. He cursed loudly, as black spots clouded his vision. There was a sudden blur of motion, and Ehn’gha quickly rolled to the side, just in time to avoid receiving Redul’s blade through his face. 

“Die!” Redul snarled, slashing wildly, only to be repelled each time “You have no place here! You are weak! You shame the Sith with your mere presence!” 

Ehn’gha sneered, it was a common tactic, belittle and insult your opponent, demoralise them, make them doubt themselves, cause them to slip up and make mistakes. It might have worked against a lesser opponent, but not on him. 

And he had much better tricks up his sleeve than mere insults. 

Ehn’gha reached out with his free hand. With a sudden jerk, Simus’ sword flew off of the desk and into Ehn’gha’s outstretched arm. Using all of his strength, he swung the second blade into Redul’s torso. The pureblood let out a choked gasp as the sword pierced his flesh, cutting deep into his bones. Ehn’gha snarled, before wrenching the weapon free, letting Redul drop to the ground. Blood began pooling underneath the dying man, and he let out ragged, shallow breaths. On the desk, the shyrack shrieked in excitement, its tail thrashing madly. 

“Excellent work, young Sith,” Yurtoln said, grinning. 

3642 BBY

In the time since he had become a true Sith, Ehn’gha had made great strides. He had since learned the ways of Sith alchemy, and had devoted all of his time to perfecting the art. He was what the old Sith would have called a Ninŭshdwodzakut, a Knotter of Entrails. There was a certain beauty to the word, and he felt that it fit him perfectly. 

He stepped back to examine his handiwork. The beast had at one point been a Houk, but now, it was a twisted, malformed creature. Where once there had been craggy skin, in its place were a number of bony, armoured plates, rendering its hide almost impenetrable. Its mouth was reminiscent of a meat grinder, multiple rows of razor-sharp, serrated teeth lined its maw, ready to tear into enemy flesh. Its tongue flicked out, long and prehensile, the end enlarged and its underside lined with three additional rows of fangs. It’s already imposing physique had been further enhanced, its biceps were swollen with newly developed muscles, and he knew that the former Houk could tear a man in half with little effort. Finally, he had enhanced its eyes. Where once there had been two, there were now a cluster of them in the centre of its face-plate. They let out an eerie, green glow, casting a sickly light on their surroundings. 

He smiled to himself, this would make a fine war beast. If he could requisition more Houks, he could make more, and they would make excellent frontline soldiers. 

He frowned. Well, they would, if not for the fact that the Sith Empire had been at peace with the Republic for years now. True, there was the occasional separatist or uprising, but that would hardly be a worthy fight for his creations. 

“An interesting creation.”

He whirled around to see who had spoken. The man was Human, and deathly pale, his black hair tied back into a topknot. On his belt hung a double-bladed lightsaber with a transparisteel hilt, showing off the power core of the weapon. A helmet was clipped next to it, four glowing red slits on the face. Two at eye level, one on the forehead and another over the wearer’s mouth. 

He choked and dropped to one knee “Lord Vyral.” Darth Vyral, a great warrior who had fought in the Great Galactic War. He was a renowned alchemist, having created a number of bioweapons for use during the war. His reputation was great, he was respected by his fellow Sith and feared by the Republic. Even Jedi were known to turn tail and flee at the prospect of facing Darth Vyral and his poisons. 

The man pursed his lips “His son, actually. You may call me Pestilus.” 

“What do you wish of me, Lord Pestilus?” Ehn’gha asked, his head bowed in respect.

“I was told of a promising young Sith, who could expertly coax bone, weave sinew and shape flesh as if it were clay.” Pestilus looked behind Ehn’gha to see the former Houk “I see the stories about your prowess were not exaggerations, as I had feared.”

“You flatter me with your praise, Lord Pestilus.” Ehn’gha said softly, his mind reeling. An established Sith, the son of Darth Vyral at that, was showing interest at his work.

“Of course, I did not come here just to praise you. I had more, much more than that in mind. A partnership, perhaps?”

Ehn’gha’s head snapped up, his eyes were wide and his heart hammered in his chest “Partnership, my Lord?” 

Pestilus smiled, his thin lips peeling back to show his teeth, yellowed from constant use of the Dark Side “Let’s talk.” 

Xxx

21 BBY

Acheron sighed as he reminisced. In life, he had been a great and feared warrior. He had killed countless Republic troopers and Jedi, as well as scores of rebels and dissidents who had thought that they could match the might of the Sith Empire. But that was a long time ago. Now he had been reduced to this. Forced to serve a wannabe Dark-Sider and a lunatic of a scientist. It was beyond humiliating. 

“I was in an accident, you know,” Doctor Watki said, motioning to her scar-lined face.

Darth Acheron’s remaining lip twitched upwards in a sneer “You were in an accident?” He asked slowly, his voice dripping with venom.

Watki let out a laugh. “Well, obviously it wasn’t as bad as yours, Lord Acheron. Mine was a speeder crash. I was clinically dead for two and a half minutes. When I was taken to a medcenter, they had to stitch me back together on the operating table, I was so broken. It was…quite an experience. I almost regret not being conscious for it.” 

Nearby, Birco sat on a table countertop. He raised a brow at the story. Perhaps he had never been told that story? 

“And what of the pain? I doubt you could have handled it,” Acheron said, testily.

“I felt plenty of pain while I was recovering. I’m certain that I could have handled it,” Watki replied, confidently. 

It was too much for Acheron. 

“You repulsive little worm,” Acheron hissed, his lip curled back in a snarl. “You don’t know the first thing of pain, of suffering!” 

At that, he pointed his arm out to Watki and closed his fist. Watki raised an eyebrow at that, evidently not feeling anything. His inability to do anything fuelled his rage, and his rage only made him feel more impotent. He longed for a physical body, for a connection to the Force, something that would allow him to lash out and smash everything in the room. 

“I don’t mean to insult you, Darth Acheron, but you’re incapable of hurting me,” Watki said, her tone gentle, almost soothing.

“Shut up! Shut up!” Acheron screamed, slamming his fist into a table. Or rather, trying to, as his hand pushed through as if there was nothing there. 

Birco shook his head in disgust “Enough of this, it’s just pathetic.” 

Acheron whirled on him, narrowing his eyes to thin slits “I am Darth Acheron! I slew hundreds of beings! I will not be insulted by some insignificant fool who doesn’t know what he’s dealing with!” 

Birco snorted “No, the real Darth Acheron died thousands of years ago, you’re not even his ghost. You’re just a memory of a dead man.” 

“Birco, enough,” Doctor Watki admonished, glowering at the Dark Jedi. She turned her attention to the gatekeeper “A memory you may be, but your knowledge is vital to our work. Please, Darth Acheron, calm down.” 

Acheron snarled and lowered his fist. Not because Watki had said so, but because there was no point to it. Her words were true, as he was, he could not do anything to hurt her. He had to supress his anger at that.

Watki smiled at him “Good, I’m glad that reason has prevailed here. Now, perhaps we can get back to work? 731, please, bring in another subject, perhaps we’ll have some more luck this time around.” 

As the medical droid wheeled in another bound clone trooper, Acheron stood in a corner and hated himself for his inability to do anything.


End file.
